


advisory

by Maiden_of_the_Moon



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Grad Student Martin, M/M, Teacher Jon, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24871786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/pseuds/Maiden_of_the_Moon
Summary: "Well, as you said, Professor Sims-- it’s my last year of the program. And I’ve… I’ve got to choose an advisor for my thesis.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 21
Kudos: 187





	advisory

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nope.
> 
> Author’s Note: Teacher Jon AUs are just. /chef’s kiss 
> 
> Warnings: Fluff, definitely. Inaccuracies, probably. Written, edited, and posted within the span of two hours. ~~I’m here for a good time, not a long time.~~

\---

**advisory**

\---

“Professor Sims, sir?”

“Mister Blackwood.” That the name leaves him as more of a question than a greeting is a matter of intention on Jon’s part; the tone pairs well with the bemused lift of his brow, and the delicate way in which he lowers notated paperwork. “I would have assumed that by a student’s _final year_ in a master’s program, he would be _less_ inclined to get lost on his way to the English department.”

Martin smiles— an anxious, lopsided thing— as he shifts from foot to foot outside Jon’s open office door. 

“Actually, Professor,” he segues, leaning against but not quite breaching the jamb, “that’s why I’m here. Rather, it’s what I was hoping to… to discuss. To ask for.”

“Directions?” Jon drawls. That Martin chuckles at this quip is due more to nerves than amusement. 

“Not quite, but also not _entirely_ off?” he admits, if squeakily, while hiking up the strap of his knapsack. “More that… well, as you said, sir, it’s my last year of the program. And I’ve… I’ve got to choose an advisor for my thesis.” 

Jon is the head of the archival sciences department; he has no say in the university’s creative writing courses, nor any interest in the poetry that he knows Martin studies. Even so, it’s not as if he’s unfamiliar with the concept of _subtext._

Frowning, Jon slips his well-used red pen back into its pot and folds his hands atop scattered reports, leveling the trembling grad student an appraising stare. 

“Mister Blackwood,” he says, carefully and low, “I had the… pleasure… of your presence in but _one_ of my classes, and that was nearly five years ago. I hardly think a professor who helped you tick off a prerequisite is who you ought to be asking to advise you in this matter. Never mind that your thesis’ _topic_ —” 

“ _I know that_ ,” Martin interrupts, vivid blotches of heat blooming pink across his cheeks. There’s a patch on his throat that rather looks like a boat, Jon notices. Not that he’s staring. Jon never _stares_. No, Jon _watches_. Right now, he is watching with some intensity as Martin ducks into his mahogany-trimmed office, tugging on the button down that has rumpled beneath his sweater vest. “I, um. I do, sir. Know that, I mean. It’s just— it’s just that I respect your opinion? And I’d. I’d really like to know what you think.”

“Flattering as that may be, Mister Blackwood, it really _isn’t_ appropriate—” 

“Please?” And here Martin cringes, looking particularly contrite, which in Jon’s opinion is a wholly _unfair_ thing for him to do; if there is one thing that all of Jon’s students eventually deduce, remember, and abuse, it is that he— regrettably— is a very soft touch, try though he might to hide that fact. Jon would feel downright _exploited_ if not for the obvious anguish shining in Martin’s eyes as he digs a folder from his knapsack and thrusts it towards him. “I already have the proposal. Here. C-could you just… Just look at it before you decide? I— I won’t hold you to being my advisor, but…?”

The sigh that Jon heaves is extraordinarily put-upon. Unfortunately, given the amount of time that Martin has spent at poetry slams and workshops, scholastic dramatics don’t do much to faze him. It’s exasperating, but— well. There’s nothing for it. 

“…fine,” Jon grumps, holding one hand out for the slightly crumpled folder and gesturing at the seat beside his desk with the other. Once the proposal is in his grasp, Martin drops into that chair like his knees can’t hold him any longer; Jon would make a comment about _theatrics_ if that didn’t smack as petty. “ _Fine_ , Mister Blackwood, I’ll give it a _skim_ , all right? A quick perusal,” he grumbles, using a cavalier flick to open the file. “Not that I’ll be able to offer much insight, _anyway_ , given my particular area of exper—”

It’s then that his rolling eyes land upon the paper’s title.

_Regarding the Benefits of Marriage: A Persuasive Argument Concerning My Adorable Boyfriend, Jonathan Sims, and Why He Should Consider Being My Adorable Husband_

Somewhere in the static fuzz that has suddenly and _completely_ overwhelmed Jon’s brain, he has another vague thought about boats, and whether or not any segments of his own, vibrantly crimson blush might resemble one.

“—I… Martin?” Shaking fingers flip through the remaining document. It is thirteen pages in length, double-spaced and in twelve point, Times New Roman font. As far as Jon can tell, it is a _genuine_ proposal. 

_Oh my God,_ Jon realizes, _it is a genuine_ proposal. 

“It’s a bit long, I know, but it’s a topic I feel very passionately about,” Martin explains into the silence. His sweet smile is as lopsided as ever, but lined with less anxiety when Jon next looks up. “Don’t… Don’t feel pressured to— you know. Just because I’m sitting here. You can take your time to read it. Think about it. I—”

With an abruptness that nearly overturns the whole pot, Jon snatches back his favorite red pen. Tosses its cap wildly to the side. Feels Martin’s startled gaze follow him as he strikes two neat lines through the _Adorable_ s. 

“No,” Jon mumbles whilst scribbling, his face on the cusp of becoming a single, burning blister. Then— mortified at the idea of being misunderstood— lurches back, arms flailing, and yelps, “I mean, yes! Yes! _Yes_. Yes to… except— I’m _not_ adorable. No. _No_.”

“What?” Martin laughs, disbelieving, before he cants purposefully forward. “You are! You _absolutely_ are. Look, I make a very strong case for your adorableness starting on—”

There is equal parts elegance and neediness in the way that Jon snares his boyfriend’s— his _fiancé’s_ — gesticulating finger. From there, it doesn’t take much coordination or effort to properly lace their hands. 

“Martin,” he intones, trying very hard to sound _sensible_ and _calm_ and _dignified_ , rather than _delighted_ and _giddy_ and _desperately in love_ , “do you want me to sit here and _read_ , or do you want me to kiss you?”

“Hmm. Honestly?” A gentle tug encourages Jon from the confines of his leather swivel chair, guiding him around his desk and between Martin’s parted knees. “That’s a tough one, Jon. I put a _lot_ of work into this… and frankly, I don’t think you’ve taken the time to fully appreciate how sexy I made those margins for you. Or that choice spacing! And oh, don’t even get me _started_ on the _formatting_ — slaving over MLA is the _truest_ expression of love of which I can conceive.” 

Jon snorts, hopelessly fond. Helplessly indulgent. “You’re _ridiculous_.”

“ _You’re_ adorable.” 

“You’re wrong,” Jon grins, bracing himself against Martin’s thighs as he leans close, brushing their noses in an Eskimo kiss. “But I might yet be persuaded to sign an approval form, anyway.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Martin’s _actual_ advisor is Professor Lukas, but since he’s never around, Jon winds up having to step in. (Better that than deal with Professor Leitner.)


End file.
